


Blue Waves in the Night

by Binario



Series: One-shots to mend (or break) the heart [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Chapter 17: Field of Revenge, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Gen, Mentioned Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Suicidal Thoughts, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, hurt and almost no comfort, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25954393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binario/pseuds/Binario
Summary: “Do you think that, after all this time, we could still name the stars in the sky?”Ingrid shifted in his arms, looking out towards the dark sky thoughtfully. “It’s still Faerghus – of course we’ll be able to name them.”.A conversation in the battlefield between two longtime friends.
Series: One-shots to mend (or break) the heart [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847344
Kudos: 7





	Blue Waves in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Title (and, in a very vague way, fic) inspired by the poem _The Destruction of Sennacherib_ by Lord Byron.
> 
> I am warning you, this one is pure hurt. Please read with caution and heed the warning tags.

“Do you think that, after all this time, we could still name the stars in the sky?”

The rain still poured well into the night. The wind had finally kicked up enough to pull the smell of blood away from their secluded spot under a tree, a momentary comfort away from the stinging cold of the Faerghan weather.

Ingrid shifted in his arms, looking out towards the dark sky thoughtfully. “It’s still Faerghus – of course we’ll be able to name them.”

(On kinder days, they stargazed together. It would take a lot of convincing before Glenn agreed to cover for them while they scurried away to the gardens in the Fraldarius State. They could never stay long, not with Dimitri essentially kidnapped by them in the midst of the night, but it felt freeing in a way very little things in their lives felt like.

Ingrid would stick her cold toes against Sylvain’s knees. Dimitri would prattle on and on about whichever constellation his tutors had taught him about while Felix listened on, enraptured, even if the cold stole a few sneezes out of him. They used to make games out of it, claiming stars for themselves and having competitions on who came up with the most ridiculous story.

_This one here is a dragon’s secret stash of mirrors._

_This one here is a tear from the Goddess from when she had to see your horrendous attempt at baking, Ingrid._

_This one here is the pendant my mother lost down the river years ago._

_This one here is where I go when I have that dream about the missing shoe._

They always forgot to bring the blankets in their excitement. That tended to result on all of them catching nasty colds the following morning that would earn them a stern talking to. It never deterred them from trying every week, to the vexation of their caretakers.

Stargazing did little to outweigh the true horror of reality, but it was enough of a balm to get them through the few years before the Tragedy.)

“I don’t know if I can agree.” Sylvain allowed the bark of the tree sustain their weight fully. His armor scraped harshly against the surface. “It feels strange to look up and see the constellations unchanged. So many things have happened during the last five years. Enough to cover entire chapters in the history books. It makes me wonder what else will be the same after this war is over.”

Thunder washed over the darkness, bright and flaring in an impressive show of power. It drowned out all the strident sounds from the battle that left them behind.

“I’ll tell you something I haven’t told anyone else.”

Ingrid peered up at him but he remained fixed on the point where Thunder had landed.

“The night before the battle, standing alone in my quarters, I thought about fleeing. Grab my horse down by the stables and ride until my name became unrecognizable to the locals. Maybe find myself a nice plot of land and finally settle down. I could have tried my hand at growing carrots, how does it sound?”

“You would have been a terrible farmer.”

“No confidence in my skills? I’m truly hurt, Ingrid.”

“I always had to remind you to have breakfast,” she chided. “You wouldn’t have been able to remember to water your crops if your life depended on it.”

“Maybe that’s why I didn’t do it. But I thought of it through the night and the morning and my conversation with the Professor and the march and all the way up to the very beginning of this battle. I found myself charging forward and still had that indecisiveness nagging at the back of my mind.”

“What changed?”

“Felix.”

“Ah, that’s Felix for you.”

“Yeah he… he told me to fight in earnest. He was always so furious whenever I threw our sparring matches on purpose. He didn't want anything other than a real challenge and you know how I have never been able to tell him no. Or change his mind, for the matter.”

“And you won.”

“For the first time in all my life.”

They lapsed into silence. The atmosphere felt heavy and stifling, but that might just be the rain. He had missed her so much during the last five years. Enough to dig up every single memory he had associated with her. He had done the same for Felix and Dimitri right at the beginning of the campaign. When he looked back, he could vividly remember them laughing during the single sleepover they ever had. 

“I am proud of you.”

(Thundering hoofs over blood-splattered grass. The roar of a monster past the river. Shouting, indistinguishable over the sizzling magic crossing the night. He feels more than sees Bernadetta’s concerned gaze as she shuffles past to join the fray.

He can’t look at her, not right now. He promised once to forever stand tall beside him and he’ll be dammed if he doesn’t at least try to fulfill his word.

(his word is all that he has now)

(he is dammed either way)

His ribs hurt as consequence of a well-aimed kick just a few minutes ago. They howl in agony the more he remains vowed, his caved armor digging into flesh and drawing even more blood to join his open injuries. He bites back the strangled whine that insists to be let free, but he can’t quite stop the flow of the tears that do escape him.

(his hands are dark with blood, little of it his)

(he’s not that different from what Miklan became, in the end)

His neck is damp from both the incessant deluge and the tears buried there. Rare tears, precious things, and he’s the cause of them. He’s been the reason for them before (long ago, back when they smiled more and the most dangerous thing they wielded against each other were branches and brooms), but now it makes him shiver in aguish.

He doesn’t deserve to be the last person he sees. Sylvain always thought himself rather lacking. It was his friends that shone like stars. They were the true heroes, the true beacons of light in his life. He was little more than a tool to be used by the highest bidder. It was what he was bred to be, what he allowed his life to be. He has made so many bad decisions that sometimes he doesn’t even know who he is anymore.

What right has he of feeling guilt? Who is he to shed tears? How dare he feel wretched when it was his heritage (pulsing, glowing, clamoring for blood like the sickening weapon that it is) that cut down one of the few things he still cherishes in the world?

_You became your own person. You stood up for something you believe in._

He must have said all of that out loud. Trembling hands tentatively return his crushing embrace, but there’s no strength on them anymore. Nothing of the vicious swordsman he's trained himself to be. Only his voice remains, fond and exasperated and so, so heartbreaking. 

(it’s his fault)

(he destroys everything he touches because he’s a sickness, just like his brother had said, and he’ll always destroy what he loves the most–)

_I am proud of you, Syl._

(he was convinced he couldn’t break anymore)

(he thinks he’s lost his ability to lie to himself somewhen during the last five years)

Somewhere past the river, Dorothea calls his name. Sylvain lets a sob overwhelm him and holds on to him, burying his face on the fur lining his coat until the hands fall limp on the grass. _)_

Sylvain bit his tongue until he tasted copper and forced down the curse that threatened to slip past his clenched teeth. _“What?”_

“I am,” Ingrid frowned like she knew what he actually wanted to say. He looked down at her hollowly, and the smile that graced her lips was as bitter as it was unbearably tender. “You have always been so quick to please, Sylvain. So eager to roll over and accept defeat without even fighting for it.”

“I saw you today in the field, fighting for something you chose to believe in, chose to devote yourself to, and do you want to know what I thought?”

She never appreciated an interruption when she’s so passionately lecturing him, so he kept quiet and allowed her to finish no matter how much he wanted to refute her.

She grabbed the hand that he kept curled against his side and dragged it into her lap. Her grip on it was crushing, and that alone got a quivering smile out of him. “I thought, if only I could be half as strong as he is.”

His smile dropped. He felt nauseous all of a sudden, like the world dropped out from under him. “But you are. Saints, Ingrid, most of my life I have wished to have your courage.”

Ingrid dropped her head against his shoulder, undeterred by the cold metal. “It’s different. I fight because I am a knight, and knights defend their countries.” She winced slightly as she tried to curl closer to battle the chill pervading the night. She paled, taking in a sharp breath to center herself. Something warm and unwelcome seeped through the cracks of his armor. He could feel it pooling steadily underneath him and he hurriedly dragged his mind away from that particular examination for the moment.

Ingrid’s breathing sounded considerably more labored than normal, but she grit her teeth and tried to keep a steady tone. “But you Sylvain, you chose your side. You are the only one out of the four of us that decided to be something more than what has been decided for us. You are fighting for something that you can gamble your dreams on. I admire the fortitude you have to bring forth the change you wish on Fódlan.”

There was so much sincerity in her teary gaze that it broke his heart. Ingrid scarcely cried (he could count the times he had seen her cry on one hand), but it always pulled at his heartstrings when she did.

He never considered himself as strong, rather, he’s always been a good actor. That Ingrid can see how hard he strived to placate those around him strikes a chord within him. It had been the first thing he learned – keep everyone pleased around him and maybe his father will relax the chains wrapped around him. Smile through the years upon years of bruises and broken fingers and maybe his brother will be satiated with just Sylvain and never turn his sight towards his much younger friends. Charm his way through life and maybe no one will see that he’s just a monster masquerading as a noble.

His mask cracked, if only a little. Ingrid deserved sincerity out of him, for once. “We were born ruined.”

Ingrid hummed quietly. Sylvain thinks she ought to have a beautiful singing voice, if she were the type to enjoy such things.

“I think we were made ruined through the years. There was so much that scarred us, and then we used that as an excuse to turn into what we most abhorred.”

Sylvain swallowed a bitter feeling. “You mean Dimitri.”

Ingrid’s expression flashed with grief for a second before she mellowed down to a quiet sadness. “I am sorry, Syl. We all knew we were wounded and yet we never sought to mend what broke us apart. Dimitri… he… he’s been dead for a long time. But if he were still with us, I know that he would agree with me.”

“This wasn’t your fault. We knew what was going to happen. We were the ones clinging to a past that should have been a motivation to be better. We can only blame ourselves for how things turned out.”

“Ingrid, that’s not true. I have– How could you not blame me after I–”

“What did Felix tell you?”

_I am proud of you, Syl._

Sylvain gave her a small smile, the truest he had given anyone in five years, the most painful he had ever felt. “He called me an idiot.”

Her bark of laughter was fainter than he was accustomed to, but it made a knot tighten painfully in his throat at the sheer familiarity of it.

“He made me swear to keep going forward until I could see the world I am fighting for.”

“And he is right. You are just about to see it come true, to finally help bring along a better life for Fódlan. Don’t blame yourself for this battle, Sylvain. I am quite glad I get to talk to you again, even if the circumstances are not ideal.”

His eyes turned hazy with new tears. “Why didn’t you stand down. Why did none of you stand down.”

Ingrid sighed tiredly. “We were scared of so many things. Of the demons under the road. Of coming to terms with the past. Of trying to do what you did and break out only to find that we didn’t know ourselves anymore.” She reached up and patted his drenched hair softly. Sylvain wished they could have the time to stay under the tree for an eternity. “We feared change, and thus we dug in our heels and returned to what we have known for all our lives.”

“I think that what you are defending is a good goal,” Ingrid mumbled against his collar. “Like something out of a fairytale.”

She felt colder through his gauntlets. Sylvain hugged her tighter against him. “Will you allow me one last selfish request?”

Ingrid groaned and her eyes fluttered shut. “When have I been able to say no to you?”

“Do you want a list?”

Her laughter was a puff of breath against his neck.

“Let me stay for a moment?”

She didn’t answer this time, only clenched the hand that was linked with his.

He could no longer hear the roar of war in the distance. They must have moved on to complete the mission, but Sylvain was certain that some of his battalion still lingered unobtrusively. Or perhaps they didn’t, and they were truly alone amongst the ruins of the battlefield.

He brushed aside mud-stained bangs to press a featherlight kiss on her forehead. She always hated it when he did that, furiously complained about not being a delicate maiden to be swooned by the likes of him.

(It became a game, back at the Academy, to always ruffle her by dropping cheek kisses when she wasn’t looking. She got furious every time he did that and some of those punches he still feels to this day.

His crowning achievement was when he convinced _Dimitri_ , of all people, to do it too. Granted, the prince had looked ready to combust from the sheer embarrassment of it, but the three of them had fallen into a rare fit of laughter when Ingrid had gotten out of her shock.

It made him remember their childhood, if just for a short time.)

“I will see it through, Ingy.” His voice shook as he said so. It ruffled a few golden strands before they fell limp over her head once more. “I will press on with your courage. I will live to see the day when freedom returns to this land. I swear that our people will never have to suffer for the conditions of their birth.”

(it sometimes felt like not even that was enough to keep him going)

“I will do this for you. I will do this for Felix. I will do this for Dimitri.”

(he had to manage this farfetched dream whatever it took, now that he had killed–)

He closed his eyes against the crown of her head, gently cradling the blond locks with a shaking hand. The other remained twined with her fingers, tracing a pattern over her silent pulse. The rain subsided to a gentle spray, but the cold touch of water sliding down his cheeks persisted against the elements.

He stored the faded scent of her lavender soap next to the sharp smell of freshly-brewed chamomile and the distinctive mix of leather and pine needle. Memories, things he never thought he would be at risk of forgetting. Small, treasured fragments of his life that are now ripped away by his own hand. He had been questioned before if he was ready to give up his life for the Emperor, but he thinks that he never really understood how much of it was tangled up with the lives of others.

He knew what was going to happen. He prepared himself for the cruel reality of having to cut down the last vestiges of his heart. He had always known since that day five years ago when he turned his weapon on his King and his country that it was their blood that he would be spilling eventually.

(he had sworn it was going to be him that faced them because they deserved the chance to destroy him for what he’s done)

(he had wanted for it to be him falling, if this dream of his was to be paid with their lives)

(it was his sin now; the worst one yet)

(this one was the last one he would ever commit)

The wind changed and he smelled the blood once more. Remembered it pouring over his hands, staining the grass, sliding down the terrible length of the Lance as it reaped yet another phantom for him.

(he can’t fall now, can’t allow himself to be defeated on their way to Fhirdiad and beyond)

(it needs to be himself that claims the bounty of his own blood when this is over)

(it’s what a monster such as him deserves)

“And after I guarantee that Faerghus can survive without crests and the blight that is nobility, I vow to you, I’ll see you again. Tell Fe that I am a man of my word, but he did make me pledge to see my dream fulfilled, so he’ll have to be a little bit patient on our other oath. Promise me that you and Fe and Dima will wait for me, yeah?”

There was no reply, but he wasn't expecting one. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am SO SORRY ABOUT THIS.
> 
> (I am, but I am also not)
> 
> I never went through this scenario because I recruited all of them in Crimson Flower. However, I have seen the battle quotes and oh boy are those some real tearjerkers.


End file.
